


Ginshitsuji

by PandoraButler



Category: Kuroshitsuji | Black Butler
Genre: Alternate Universe, Black Butler - Freeform, F/M, Js, Kuroshitsuji - Freeform, M/M, Our Ciel - Freeform, Real Ciel - Freeform, Revenge, o!ciel - Freeform, r!ciel - Freeform, the count of monte cristo plot, vincent is ciel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-10
Updated: 2019-08-08
Packaged: 2020-06-02 11:42:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 13,823
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19440763
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PandoraButler/pseuds/PandoraButler
Summary: Vincent Phantomhive summons a demon to escape from the nightmare he lived. He seeks revenge against the ones that forced him into this. The demon graciously accepts to asist...for the small price of his soul, that is.





	1. That Butler; Newly Hired

Darkness. Endless darkness. He could hear the chanting of the occultists in his ears. He could feel their hands as they touched him all over, ensuring that the sacrifice was the best of the best. Their hands. Their hands felt like ice against his skin. He was naked. He was cold. He was shivering against the stone altar. All the tears he wished to cry had fallen. All of the screams he wished to scream had worn away his throat. His voice soft. His eyes hollow. He was empty, wishing everything away. The burn mark on his lower back still burning. His heart crying out to the best of his ability. It only said one thing. 

"I want them dead," cried his soul. "I want them dead. I want them dead. I want them dead. I want them dead. I want them dead. I want them dead. I want them dead. I want them _dead_ ," he repeated over and over again within himself. The only way to forget about them. To forget about this impossible situation...was to chant. That's what _they_ were doing. That's what _he_ was doing. It was only a matter of who enticed the demon _more_. 

To seduce a demon is to seduce one's own goals. It's a simple matter of passion. There is no enjoyment if there isn't enough _want_ in the desire. The more corrupt one is can change the flavor of the entire scenario. Sometimes a simple blotch on a once pure soul makes it all the more fun for a demon to watch as the corruption gets _worse_. These occultists were already damaged goods. They weren't fun anymore. There was no need to fulfill _their_ wishes.

A cool mist filled the room. Not too dark. Not to light. Just the right amount of silver too. Whisps of air felt like breath around his face. No. It wasn't air. It was _hair_. Shiny bright hair to match the golden green eyes staring at him. The mist covering too much of the figure for Vincent to tell who, no _what_ , it was. The occultists in the room disappeared from Vincent's sight. It was just him and this fascinating stranger. 

"You wish to have them dead?" a voice spoke. Soft. Smooth. Just like the long hair hovering around Vincent's face. "I can kill them, for a price," a hint of a laugh hidden in his speech. 

"I have nothing to give," Vincent replied. 

"Oh, but you do," a hand appeared from the fog, long black nails ran down Vincent's bare chest. "Something you humans never seem to cherish. You have a soul, do you not?" 

"Hah," Vincent laughed. The single noise turned into a maniacal, crazed, laugh that echoed off the walls and into his ears only to escape his mouth once again. He was laughing without realizing he was laughing. His voice didn't feel like his own. His tears didn't feel like his own. The chains wrapped around his wrists and the agony of his memories...did not feel like his own suffering. So, in this dreary case of circumstance, his soul did not feel like his own either. He sold it. He had escaped death only to die again. Would the rest of his life be living? Truly? If he had already died here without a soul to call his own anymore?

The black nails dripped with blood trailing off the hand. This blood fell into Vincent's eye. His eye cried the very same blood that dripped. A different agony with which Vincent could scream. He wanted to hold his eye, to tear it out, to throw it on the ground in hopes that it might stop the pain, but the chains on his wrists and ankles held him in place. Vincent couldn't hear the screaming of the occult members over his own. The mist hid it well. 

The chains holding him back ceased to exist. He held his eye whilst curling up into a ball on the altar. "It doesn't end here," he whispered. "I want them _all_ dead. Every last one of them. You will help me, help me to get my revenge." It wasn't a question. Not a 'would you help me, please?' No. He was ordering this demon around. Was he brave? Stupid? Maybe a bit of both. One thing was clear: he no longer cared for his life if he sought to speak to a demon so rudely (and without a proper contract too). 

"'Tis a trivial request," the demon laughed. "A human's lifespan is barely a ripple in the waters of my life. Let us finetune the contract, shall we?" 

"You will serve me," Vincent stood up and stretched out his hand. "You will be my butler, my most trustworthy pawn, my loyal servant. You will not lie to me and, if ordered, you will exactly what I ask without question."

"Of course, Vin-"

"A butler must not speak to his master so casually," Vincent made his first critique. The one that started the many that would follow. 

"Yes, my Lord," the mist swirled in the location directly before Vincent on the altar. A shape, of some sorts, became refined. A male, knelt there, with his hand over his chest. His hair was lengthy but neat. His eyes a golden green. Horns at the top of his head. Teeth sharp, threatening danger. He wore a tailcoated suit that was a shade of grey. Not too dark. Not too light. One might mistake him for an angel if far enough away. 

"Your teeth are too sharp for a human's. Your horns must disappear. And, those scars of yours," Vincent reached out to touch the demon's face. In the process of wanting to touch it, he realized his own bleeding wrist. He'd forgotten about it, due to the pain becoming a familiar constant. "I suppose..." he attempted to focus his eyes but failed miserably. His vision blurred. "They'll have to...wait..." Vincent collapsed and his (newly) faithful butler caught him. He carried him delicately as he walked out of the blood-filled temple. The evidence must be erased, for the sake of preserving the identity the two were about to form. So, he burned it. He burned it in a pit of hellfire. He smiled, as he watched the flames dance on the corpses of the damned. 

Vincent's pulse weakened. The demon could feel the body growing colder by the moment. "Not yet," the demon chuckled. "You may not die _yet_ , my Lord," he said, turning on his heel to find a nice location to build a proper abode. 


	2. That Butler; Training

The warmth of rays and the comfort of a nice bed. Vincent opened his eyes to see the demon staring at him. His horns gone and his teeth somewhat more human. Vincent held up his hands in front of his face, bandages, that's nice.

"Where are we?" he asked.

"In a manor that I built."

"A manor?"

"A manor."

Vincent sat up and groaned. He looked around. This appeared to be the place out of his dreams. He'd never lived in something so fancy before. He was of noble blood, but not of _this_ type of noble blood. "Demon," Vincent turned to look at the silver-haired fiend once again. "What do I call you?"

"I have no name, my Lord," the demon bowed. "Simply call me whatever you wish. My true name has long since been forgotten."

"Hm," Vincent placed a hand on his chin and closed his eyes to think. He was rubbish at creating names. "Ah," he said, opening his eyes and pointing to the demon. "Adrian Crevan!"

"Adrian Crevan?" the demon tilted his head in confusion. The name seemed a bit random.

"Adrian was the name of my dog, once upon a time, and you look like a bit of a dog person. Not that you like dogs, more like, you have the personality of a dog. Uhm," Vincent sighed. "Crevan...yeah I can't really explain that one. It just seems nice. You know? Like a go-" Vincent clutched the sides of his head and screamed at the top of his lungs. This manor was fairly secluded from the rest of society for this very reason. Vincent couldn't pretend to be okay forever. The memories would haunt him on and off for a number of years.

"Hands," he whispered, after curling up into a ball on the bed. He rocked slightly back and forth muttering the word 'hands' over and over. His eyes failed him. All he could see were gloved black hands touching him in every which way. Hands. Tons of hands. No body part was safe. No body part was clean.

Then, amongst it all, was an off-white gloved hand, held out to him, it felt safe. Demons cannot wear pure white, it's against customs, you know? So, the off-white hand held itself there, waiting, for Vincent to grasp or to injure or simply stare at. Vincent grabbed the hand, with both of his, and sobbed into it. "Pathetic," tears streamed down his face to stain the glove. "I'm so pathetic. I'm sitting here claiming to take revenge but I can't even see their faces. I can't even think of it or I'll crumble like I am now. I'm so utterly _pathetic_."

"No, my Lord," the demon shook his head. "You're only _human_."

The words rested in Vincent's ears. He was once again reminded that this male standing here wasn't human. He wasn't anything close to human. And, as such, likely held no carnal desires of a human. It was comforting, in a sense, to know that no matter what he did this beast standing here was only in it for his soul. It was lonely, but comforting nonetheless, to know that he had one individual that would be there till the end. He would not die alone.

"Right," Vincent wiped his eyes to remove the tears. He stood up and allowed his sheets to fall. He wore nothing for he had come here with nothing. "Let's make a butler out of you and an earl out of me. We have some time yet before I can make my appearance to the public and make it somewhat believable. First things first," Vincent pointed at Adrian's face. "You can't go around poofing things into existence. That will make it obvious that you aren't human, understood? Make things as a human would. Take the time as a human would. Make it too unbelievable and we will be found out. However, make it just flashy enough, and people will think it's some sort of trick, a show," Vincent explained. Adrian nodded.

"We have no money, no clothes, no means of food for me either," Vincent sighed. "This will be rather difficult."

"Actually, my Lord," Adrian began. He took a piece of paper out of his pocket. It was a map to a cave that shouldn't be far away. "The occultists had this. Likely a map to their funds from over the years. We could simply use it, no?"

"Buried treasure?" Vincent laughed. "Some money is better than no money, I suppose," his laugh subsided into a snicker. "Then, shall I begin your lessons? I may not have come from the noblest of blood...but I do know a thing or two and most certainly have read a thing or two," Vincent smiled. He grabbed Adrian's hand and led him out the door. He had no idea where he was going but cared little that he didn't, and wandered the manor aimlessly, refusing to allow Adrian one word edgewise. Quite the nice summary of their entire relationship. Vincent would lead the way in his revenge allowing Adrian to follow behind, watching from afar, not particularly allowed to interfere or provide assistance unless prompted.

And so, seven years passed with them running around like this trying to make sense of how to be a nobleman and a nobleman's butler. They waited until they could perfect the act, without even a sense of doubt from any man. And then, the plan began to take shape. It was time to take action. The fire that had sparked that night grew into an unquenchable desire. No matter what Vincent did. No matter what he tried to forget. He still wanted everyone _dead._


	3. That Butler; Dancing

"Did you hear? Did you hear? The Earl Phantomhive is making an appearance at the ball tonight! I heard he mysteriously came about just a few years ago. Do you think he is handsome? I wonder how he came to find so much money and raise in the ranks so quickly. Do you think he has killed or bribed to be there?" a maid whispered to another maid.

"Did you hear? Did you hear? I heard he has a mysterious (and handsome) butler that dresses only in grey! Imagine that! And, his hair is a nice shade of silver. His eyes aren't human at all! He is a mystery but one I'd like to solve if you know what I mean," the other maid whispered back.

"I heard! I heard! I heard that the two might be in a scandalous relationship. Earl Phantomhive has never been seen with a woman and is _only_ accompanied by his butler. Don't you think that means something?" the third maid whispered.

"Shut up and get back to work!" the other two snapped. The third maid sighed and went back to cleaning. Apparently, her speculation wasn't invited and never would be.

"You three," a voice sweet as honey itself spoke. The three maids turned around to face the lady of the household. She smiled, a grin softer than the rays of light, before speaking. "I know you're excited about the ball tonight but please try to keep your speech to a minimum. We would like this place to be spotless for our guests. Do you think the Earl Phantomhive would enjoy it if it wasn't the cleanest it most certainly could've been? Rumor has it he is quite harsh on his servants. Should I take after him? Considering," her eyes shot daggers, "you three don't have enough to do that you whisper such things about him."

The three maids shut up and refused to say a word for the remainder of the day. Mrs. Rachel Dalles, married to Mr. Diedrich Dalles, the lady of the house found her heart beat quite hastened at the thought of the Earl Phantomhive. His timeline matched a certain male that she knew quite well. She shook her head. No matter what she heard or what things she supposedly thought she knew of the mysterious earl, no one could match her beloved Vincent. 

She looked at her finger, the one he'd tied a piece of string around, they'd promised to marry. She'd promised to wait only for him, and look at her now, married with two children, to his _best friend_. Rachel fought back her tears and went back to work. Nothing, not even the earl, could possibly bring back her beloved Vincent.

Time passed. Preparations were made. The guests came in one by one. Rachel smiled, said her dues, but her heart still yearned for the Earl Phantomhive. Which one was he? They were all wearing masks. Would she know if he saw him? Costumes and costumes, Rachel couldn't tell. She was beginning to think she'd already seen him, that he was one of these masked individuals dancing in the ballroom.

A man dressed in a white that wasn't white, with a mask that wasn't anything more than a thin bridal's veil manipulated into a beautiful facepiece. He grabbed the lady's hand and kissed it. "Good evening, my Lady," he said, a voice so kind and so gentle Rachel wondered if he truly was a man. The length of his hair and the softness of his lips, he certainly felt like a woman.

"Thank you for coming," Rachel smiled.

"My Lord," the man's voice a whisper now, "told me to provide you with a message. The message is simply this 'there was a place where the roses are the color of hair.'" The masked male walked away. Rachel, understanding immediately, gave her regards to her husband telling him that there was something she simply _must_ do. And then, she ran. She ran to the one place in the Dalles' garden that had remained untouched. The place where roses were blue.

Panting, she held her knees for a moment to regain her breath. She stood up, dignified, and walked through the rose patch where the gazebo stood. Within the gazebo sat a masked man, with raven black hair, and a mask equally black made of lace.

"You seem to be in quite the rush, my dear," a voice, unfamiliar to her ears, spoke. This was not the Vincent she was expecting to see. "Are you looking for someone?" he asked.

"I simply," she paused and brushed her hair behind her ear, "I simply was needing a breath of fresh air. There are a lot of nobles all in one place. And, I thought, perhaps..." she paused. How could she explain herself? She should be greeting guests! Not following the scent of a ghost.

"Perhaps?" the male exited the gazebo and stood in front of her. He smiled. She felt as if she could trust this smile.

"Perhaps it was time for me to take a break," she lied. She had only come because of the message. But this man's hair was not blue. He could not be Vincent.

"Allow me to accompany you," the male bent down and grabbed Rachel's hand. He brought it up to his lips and kissed it. Rachel noticed the ring. He noticed hers as well.

"Earl Phantomhive, I presume?"

"Yes, my dear, the one and only," he stood up. "I have a question I must ask you, out of curiosity, feel free to deny me an answer," his hand lingered on hers, he ran his thumb over her ring finger. "Why do you wear two rings?" he asked, before releasing his grasp and setting her hand free. The sensation of a hand on her hand remained. It was a bit...odd.

"Two rings?" she looked down at her hand, as if she hadn't realized it herself, but remembered the string. "Oh, you mean this string? My betrothed lost the ring on the day he'd asked me to marry him. So he wrapped my finger in a string since it was all he had. I promised to wait for him. He was scheduled to go on a trip with his family but a tragic accident occurred and I was to be married to another."

"Did you not wish to marry the good noble Viscount Dalles?" the man asked. His eyes piercing through her own, as if he could see the truth already lurking but could not believe it.

"I married him because I had to," Rachel said, unsure of why she told the truth to this man.

"Surely no one is _forced_ to marry those they do not wish to marry," Earl Phantomhive chuckled.

"A woman always is forced to marry even if they are not forced to marry. Especially under the circumstances I was in," Rachel found her hand moving to her stomach. She was being far too truthful to a stranger. What if he leaked this information?

"Your sons..." Earl Phantomhive had the decency to remain silent. He did not continue his accusation about the legitimacy of those twins.

"My Lady! My Lady!" a voice of her maid rang through the garden. She could barely catch her breath as she attempted to explain the situation. "There is a fire! A fire! What should we do?!"

"A fire?!" Rachel gasped. "Where are my boys? Are they safe?!"

"The guests are out of the house, my Lady, but your sons _refuse_ to leave the building. So far the fire is being contained to one room. What should we do?"

Rachel could not fathom the situation to best give orders. Earl Phantomhive stepped in. "Focus on alleviating the fire. Buckets and buckets, fill them with water from the lake in the garden. Make a steady line of people leading to the room to make the bucket travel faster. My butler shall assist. We need only put it off until the firemen arrive. Leave the children to me," Earl Phantomhive ran towards the building at a speed Rachel had never seen before. He was swift, running like the wind, to go save children that had nothing to do with him. Such chivalry.

As Earl Phantomhive had suspected, his butler was certainly working at a quick pace. The male dressed in grey had removed his mask and rolled up his sleeves. He gave instructions to the noblemen with such authority that none of them had the time to refuse working. Rachel was dumbfounded at the display. She could only clutch her pendant and twiddle her ring as she waited for the news of her sons.


	4. That Butler; Rescue

Earl Phantomhive ran into the building. The children had made it easy for him to find. They sat at the top of the stairs, hugging each other, fully prepared to die by the flames should the burning doom escape the single room.

"Brother, Brother, who is he?" the one asked the other.

"Brother, Brother, I don't know," the other replied.

"Children, children, don't you think you should escape? The fire could get out of hand," Earl Phantomhive climbed the stairs and sat next to the two boys.

"Brother, Brother, he is quite strange. Should we listen to him? He isn't like those others," the one asked.

"Brother, Brother, I told you not to listen to those filthy adults. They're nothing but trouble," the other replied.

"Children, children, if you don't leave I shall be forced to stay. Your suicide will turn into a murder. Do you wish to be murderers?" Earl Phantomhive asked.

"Brother, Brother, I don't want to kill anyone!" the one cried.

"Brother, Brother, I will see to it that you don't. If this masked stranger removes his mask, perhaps we will trust him. Okay?" the other replied.

The condition was a strange one. But, Earl Phantomhive understood the children's concern. He removed his mask that was attached to his wig, to reveal his eyepatch and brilliant blue hair.

"Brother, Brother, he hid his hair as we hide ours!" the one smiled and clapped his hands.

"Brother, Brother, do you think his mother was afraid of him being bullied for his hair too?" the other replied.

"Brother, Brother, surely we can trust an adult with hair like that?" the one whispered.

"Brother, Brother, I think we shall," the other smiled.

"Children, children, thank you for your trust. Now, I shall carry you in my arms to make our escape quicker," Earl Phantomhive picked up the boys, one in each arm, and ran out of the house to the garden.

"My sons!" Diedrich ran over to Earl Phantomhive and took his boys from the man. "I owe you a great debt, Mister..."

"Earl," he corrected, "Earl Phantomhive," he said with a bow.

"You're the Earl Phantomhive?" Rachel gasped. "But...your hair!"

"I apologize if my hair offends you, Mistress Dalles," he said, looking her in the eyes. "I know it is a rare color, which was why wearing a mask with a wig was crucial in a masquerade. However, the ball has ended due to the fire," he turned his attention back to Diedrich. "Please, do not reward me, Viscount Dalles. I only did what anyone would've done."

"Nonsense! Allow me to thank you in some way!" he pleaded.

"Yes! Do! We must thank you!" Rachel agreed.

"I must refuse," Earl Phantomhive shook his head. "I did nothing worthy of being thanked."

"Brother, Brother, he just insulted us," the one whispered.

"Brother, Brother, he just said we weren't special and that he shouldn't be thanked for saving us," the other whispered back.

"Brother, Brother, don't you think that is rude?" the one shook his head.

"Brother, Brother, it is quite rude," the other shook his head too.

"I do wish they'd stop talking to only each other like that," Rachel placed a hand on her cheek and sighed. "But, you heard them. Earl Phantomhive, you must accept!"

The Earl Phantomhive sighed, "Since it has come to this I want one thing and one thing alone," he outstretched his hand to the crowd. "Allow me to host a second ball, seeing as to how this one was rudely interrupted by a fire."

"That is hardl-"

"Ah," the Earl Phantomhive interrupted, "you won't deny me my gift, will you?" he winked. He moved his hand so that Diedrich might shake it. The viscount lowered his two sons and grabbed the hand, agreeing albeit reluctant.

"Father, Father," the one grabbed his pant leg.

"Father, Father," the other did the same.

"Might we go to the Earl Phantomhive's estate? We're quite interested in this strange man's home," they both said in unison.

The Earl Phantomhive knelt down to make eye contact with the twins. "Children, children, you are more than welcome to come to the ball that I'll be hosting," he smiled. "'Till then," the Earl Phantomhive stood up and turned with his hand held up in the air waving as he walked. "I bid you adieu." The male dressed in grey bowed and went to follow his master to the carriage. The crowd that was speechless whispered amongst each other, unsure of if they should attend the next ball or not. After all, the rumors of the Earl Phantomhive were quite different from his actions. How could a man of such mystery be so kind as to save children from a burning building? None could reach a conclusion.

The butler opened the door to the carriage for the earl. He sat across from him as the carriage began to move and return them to their estate. "That woman," the butler began, "seems to have feelings for you still, my Lord."

"No matter," the earl looked out the small window of the carriage.

"Do you think, perhaps, that you might cast aside your revenge and run away with her instead?" the butler asked.

"Do not tempt me, fiend," the earl snapped his head back, fury showing itself in his eyes, "I am Earl Vincent Phantomhive and I _will_ get my revenge. You cannot take that from me with your suggestions. I will kill them all!" Vincent slammed his hand on the carriage door. He gritted his teeth in frustration. Feelings such as love no longer had a place in his heart. Not for her. Perhaps, not for anyone.

"I apologize," Adrian bowed his head slightly. His long fringe covering his eyes as he looked at his hands. "It was not my intent to tempt you away from the contract, my Lord. I simply..."

"You simply _what_?"

"I do not wish to see you die, my Lord," Adrian confessed. He folded his hands but continued to stare at them. "I thought perhaps if you and your lover were to elope maybe we could end the contract, go our separate ways, and then...I would not have to watch you suffer and..." the demon couldn't finish the sentence. What little emotions he had got the best of him.

"Oh, Adrian," Vincent leaned forward. He pressed his hand against the back of Adrian's head, pushing it forward so that their foreheads would touch. "It was not meant to be. Any feelings that Rachel may have had for me are erased with another. She cannot leave Diedrich so easily. And I, I cannot live without the fire of my revenge. I would be without purpose, you see?"

"I could find you a new purpose, a new goal!" Adrian pleaded.

"No," Vincent kissed Adrian's forehead and sat back in his seat properly. He looked out the window once more. "It was not meant to be. I died _that_ day. My days are numbered and are only extended thus far for one purpose and one purpose alone. Is that understood?"

"Yes, my Lord," Adrian choked on his words and fought back the sorrow brewing within him. He'd become attached during those seven years. He'd sworn himself not to, but in the end, he'd become attached.


	5. That Butler; Requesting

Dearest Viscount Diedrich,

_I write to you asking for a small favor. You see, dearest Diedrich, I have been given a special request from a certain lady of high authority. It requires a bit of assistance. Since not many people have heard of me, as of late, I request that you formally invite me to Viscount Druitt's special service. Not as myself, however, but as Countess Phantomhive. If you could do this for me, it would be much appreciated._

_Your Humble Acquaintance,_   
_Earl Phantomhive_

_P.S._

_The arrangements for the ball are coming together quite nicely. I expect about two months and it shall all be completed._   
  
  


Diedrich stared at the letter, reading it over again and again. He couldn't fathom who this lady of high authority was. However, he had an inkling in the pit of his stomach that it might be the _highest_ lady. How would a stranger such as the Earl Phantomhive know the Queen of England? No, no, it must be some other lady of high authority. Diedrich didn't know any, but he was certain that they existed...outside the Queen. There had to be some, somewhere, right?

He sighed and burned the letter in the fire of a candle. There was no need for him to go out of his way to help the Earl Phantomhive. He'd saved his children from the fire, yes, but he'd refused the thank you gift. As far as Diedrich knew, the earl was a nobody from nowhere with no noble drop of blood in his body. He might have done a good deed, but he likely caused the fire for his own benefit, no? This suspicion would not leave Diedrich's mind.

The note burned in his hand and a hidden word revealed itself. "Queen," it said. Diedrich dropped the note and stepped back. His gasp was loud enough that the twins who were hiding behind his door entered to see if he was okay. They watched with their eyes of curiosity as their father attempted to stamp the letter with his foot.

"Brother, Brother, he is trying to burn down the house again," the one shook his head.

"Brother, Brother, will we be saved once again by the mysterious earl?" the other smiled, excited.

"Brother, Brother, I would so like to see him. He was a nice adult," the one returned the smiled, clutching the hand of his twin in his own.

"Will you two cease that senseless chatter?!" Diedrich used a spare piece of paper to brush the ashes onto it and throw the note in the fireplace. Why didn't he just throw the letter in the fireplace to begin with? The earl was making him out to be a fool. He had no right to refuse something directly related to the Queen of England. Even if he had no idea as to the legitimacy of the Earl Phantomhive's claim.

"Father, Father, we didn't mean to trouble you," the one looked sadly at the ground.

"Father, Father, we only wanted to play for a bit, you're always so busy," the other looked to the ground as well.

"My darling boys," the mother spoke, entering the room, she placed her hands on their shoulders and shooed them away. "Go off to play somewhere else, please. You know how easily agitated your father can be when he is working," her face apologetic but her words stern. The two left the room to enter their own.

"Diedrich," Rachel walked over to the desk and stood beside him. "Whatever is the matter?"

"It's that _earl_ ," Diedrich folded his hands to place them on his desk. He squeezed them together so hard that his knuckles turned white. "I am beginning to think he is not who he says he is. There is something about him...something that I cannot explain. It's as if...as if I _know_ him from somewhere."

Rachel sighed. She knew that eventually, Diedrich would recognize him as she had. But, she was not expecting this to be so soon. She kept her mouth shut, unsure of what to say, and simply stood there to silently comfort.

"Is...is he a ghost? Come to haunt me from the underworld?" Diedrich held his head in his hands. "My memory fails me but his actions...it's as if...as if..."

"Hush darling, don't dare speak of it," Rachel hugged Diedrich, placing his head in her bosom. She must protect the identity of her previous love. It was the least she could do after betraying his trust. She had not waited as she had promised. She had betrayed in the cruelest way. But, Diedrich was right. The earl was only a shadow of the Vincent that Rachel knew. Something had changed drastically about him. As if, well, as if he were possessed by a darkness Rachel couldn't begin to understand. A demon, perhaps.

"I am beginning to think I am a fool," Diedrich could barely breath under the weight of his own regrets. The more he thought of the Earl Phantomhive, the more his memories of the past were stirred deep within him. He'd forgotten about them. He'd buried them only for a hand to rip open his chest and tear them back out, dangling them before his face, reminding him of the terrible crime he committed.

"No, my darling," Rachel brushed her hand through his hair. "You are no fool," she said. She wasn't sure what else to say. Her own memories were bubbling within her. She felt a calling to the Earl Phantomhive. Perhaps it was time for her to accompany Diedrich to his next arrangement. She rarely left their home. However, desperate times called for desperate measures. She needed to verify her beliefs. She _must_ talk to him again.


	6. That Butler; Acting

Filthy scum. That's what they all were. A bunch of people gathered together to talk about selling other people. They were rich enough for it. And, if someone wasn't careful, they might even try selling the rich ones. That's exactly what Diedrich sought to avoid. He didn't want to come back here, especially not with his wife, so he'd forced her to dress in men's clothing. He would not have Viscount Druitt trying to sell her off as some slave. She wore a short wig to mask her long hair. Her attire similar to something Diedrich would wear himself. Nothing too flashy. Nothing too colorful. The tricky part was flattening her chest. That called for some creativity.

A dazzling appearance entered the room. A male, the same grey male as the previous ball (Rachel had learned, much to her surprise, that he was a butler and not an attendee) entered the room with a woman on his arm. Rachel's jaw dropped. Long blue pigtails and a deep royal blue gown. Something Francis Midford might've worn, she was sure of it. Just enough to be considered beautiful but dignified all the same. Her hair long and covering half of her face, her smile shining, and her gaze piercing.

"Countess Phantomhive," Diedrich announced, for those 'friends' of his. Rachel wasn't sure what to make of that. She'd assumed it was simply a woman, not the man she'd previously met. But, how to talk to him alone? That would be the real challenge.

"Viscount Dalles! How could you hide such a beautiful woman from me all of this time?!" a blonde dressed in far too much white so as to look like a prince, rushed to the side of Countess Phantomhive and grabbed her hand. This earned him a slight glare from the grey butler.

"You flatter me, Viscount Druitt," her voice soft and inviting. Lighthearted and sickeningly sweet. Rachel found it more and more difficult to connect that this was indeed a man.

"It is not flattery, my darling blue jay, you are the most brilliant woman I have ever had the pleasure of laying eyes upon," he bent down to kiss her hand. "I expected nothing less of a countess."

"I am a countess only in name," she took back her hand and sighed deeply. "All of my money was stolen from me. But I was blessed enough to keep the title," a single tear fell from her eye. Embarrassed to have cried at all, she hid her face behind a fan. "No one, not even my mother, would ever miss me should I disappear," she sobbed lightly behind the fan. Diedrich visibly cringed. Not only because of the fact this man was wearing a dress, but also because of the fact he was saying absolutely all the wrong things in the wrong scenario. Little did Diedrich know, this was all according to plan.

Anxiety built up in Viscount Dalles's chest. He did not wish to see the man he invited to this scene get sold. That was wrong in any number of ways. But, he could not stop it either. This was not in his control.

"Countess in name or not," Viscount Druitt smiled. "You are beautiful all the same. Your hair," he grabbed a few strands and brought them to his lips, "I haven't seen hair like this before in my life. Truly a rarity." Diedrich couldn't help but feel faint. Viscount Druitt was getting more and more infatuated. He was likely estimating the dollars he could make off of this blue-haired (seemingly) beauty in his head whilst complimenting her so that she might trust him.

The grey butler grabbed the viscount's wrist and smiled a grin so bright it might as well be devious. "My Lady does not take kindly to people touching her hair," he warned. To this, she laughed.

"Don't mind him," she closed her fan and smiled. "He simply gets a bit overprotective every now and then. Now then, shall we call to order this session? I believe there is much to be discussed," her single eye revealed a demanding aura. No man (nor Rachel) could refuse her even if they tried.

A few gentlemen sat at the table. There was not another lady (or so it seemed). Rachel sat next to Countess Phantomhive. Diedrich sat next to Viscount Druitt on the opposing side. There were a few more ragtag nobles there. No one Rachel recognized. She wasn't sure she _wanted_ to recognize them.

"My dear, you are quite _handsome_. Will do be so kind as to offer me your name?" the voice placed emphasis on the word handsome and caused Rachel a bit of anxiety. Did he see through her? Did he know that she was dressed just as outlandish as him?

"My Lady, it would be an honor to provide you with my name," Rachel placed a hand over her chest as if that would stop the beating of her heart. "My name is Richard."

"Richard?" she frowned, shaking her head. "That simply won't do, I'm afraid. A man like yourself should not have a name with a nickname so vulgar," Countess Phantomhive sighed.

"Vulgar? What do you mean?" Rachel frowned.

"I would explain but such words should not pass from the mouth of a _lady_ ," she smirked in such a fashion that disguised it as a smile. The other males were stunned by the bold statements coming from the 'lady.' It was no wonder to them why she had lost all of her money. She was definitely _not_ a lady.

"Let's get down to business," Viscount Druitt clapped his hands. He directed the conversation in such a way as to make it appear that there was something being accomplished. The truth of the matter was his slight hand signals and body language signaled that, no, in fact, he was only preparing to have this 'lady' sold later that evening. Rachel was clueless to this. Diedrich, however, felt his heart begin to linger with a mist of guilt that turned into a cloud when the evening ended. He could not leave that building with a clean conscious that night. When he arrived at his estate, the first thing he did was write a note. Diedrich did not send the note. He simply wrote the note in hopes that he could sleep in peace.


	7. That Butler; Remembrance

The familiar coldness of a cage. Vincent awoke inside it. Just as he expected, they'd drugged his drink and waited just long enough before it took effect. He sat up, although it was difficult in this gown, and leaned up against the cage. A bright light shone on him and blinded his single eye. He lifted his hand to block the light and a voice spoke. It was the viscount, wearing a silly mask, and auctioning him off in a room filled with other masked nobles.

Ah.

So this was what they did to all of those girls. So _this_ was the man that helped send him to those occultists. How much money had he been given? Vincent was dying to know. How much money was given to Viscount Druitt for him to agree to such a devious plot? _How much?_

Vincent gritted his teeth and remained silent. He watched as they continued to raise the price. They raised it and they raised it and Vincent did nothing. He knew this would happen. He knew they would do this. He wanted them to. But, now that he was in this cage, now that it was actually happening, the rage burning within him and the fear lingering in the shadows of his past fought each other. He couldn't hold back the anguish and the terror of _that_ night. Of _those_ nights. He'd done so well up until this moment. So, why now? Why _now_ was he reverting to his childish self?

He yelled out and gripped the bar with one hand. His other hand outstretched towards the light. He screamed and he tore at the bar, trying to rip it off, but failing. It was impossible with his strength to manage it with one hand. Whether the nobles were laughing at him or not didn't matter. He could _hear_ their laughs even if they hadn't escaped their lips. The more and more he looked, the more and more this wasn't a room filled with nobles. This was a dark cell with an altar before him. He saw hooded figures and watched from an outsider's perspective as he was sacrificed to the demon.

"I want them dead," the phrase familiar and ever still engraved on his heart escaped his mouth with a small gust of wind. It flew to the demon lurking in the shadows of the nearest corner. The demon stood, watching, unable to move. He'd been ordered to stay. Vincent had told him this was his own fight. The demon sought nothing more than to help his master. He felt pathetic, useless, and disgusted with himself. He should've tried harder to convince Vincent this was not the best way to go about things.

Vincent pulled back the hand that was outstretched. He grabbed the bar, gripped it tight, gritted his teeth, and pulled it with all of his might. He stared at the image of himself that his mind had created. Not today. Not again. He would not do this a second time. Vincent's mere willpower broke the bar right off the cage. He escaped through the opening, the image disappeared only revealing the villainous nobles. He held the bar tightly with one hand and raised it above his head. He swung, and with one fell swoop, he hit the back of Viscount Druitt's head and knocked him unconscious.

He ripped the skirt of his gown, kicked off his shoes, and jumped off the stage. The audience was too stunned to retaliate. One by one, he smashed their heads in with the bar. His vicious attitude could not be stopped. They screamed but had nowhere to escape. The anger coursing through his veins quickened his movements. Each member screamed. This blue haired beauty had turned out to be a monster. He walked through the blood that formed a pool at his ankles. Viscount Druitt opened his eyes to see the 'woman' swing her bar. The blood splattered from the bodies and onto her clothes. She walked closer to the stage, jumping onto it, and pressed her foot against the viscount's chest so he could not stand. The blood seeped into his white garments.

"Who are you?" he asked. Confusion mixed with fear and mutilated his features.

"You don't recognize me?" Vincent tore off his wig and threw it behind him. "My true name is Vincent Funtom. Surely you remember the man you sold." Vincent dug his heel into the viscount's chest, making it more difficult for the man to breathe. "I need a name," he demanded. "Tell me the name of the man that sold me to you."

"Vincent Funtom?" Viscount Druitt gasped from shock and for air. "Y-you should be dead!" his face pale.

"I'm only as alive as you are," Vincent slammed the bar right next to the viscount's head, creating a hole in the stage. "Give me the name of the man that sold me to you. I won't ask again. The next time you disappoint me, you'll breathe your last breath."

"Are you certain that you want to know?" Viscount Druitt's fear for his life was nothing compared to his fear of uttering the name. He didn't want to know what would happen to the man that committed the crime. However, he knew the rage of Vincent was only going to get worse. It just depended upon which type of worse Viscount Druitt was subject to seeing. Anger over not knowing, or anger after knowing, in either case, Viscount Druitt was doomed to be the punching bag.

Vincent took the bar and slammed it onto Viscount Druitt's hand. He screamed out in agony as his bones were crushed. The blood mixed with the other noblemen's blood. He was going to die either way. He was certain of that now. If he was going to die, why not torment the impostor earl with the truth? Viscount Druitt smiled a hideous grin.

"Viscount Dalles, of course," he laughed at the shock visible on Vincent's face.

"You're lying!" he yelled, forcing the bar further into the viscount's hand. But, he knew that wasn't the case. Diedrich, his best friend, had betrayed him. Rachel, his most beloved bride to be, had betrayed him. Wasn't there anyone in this godforsaken earth that hadn't betrayed him?

Vincent raised the bar in the manner of a golf club, he swung it so that Viscount Druitt would meet his demise. He kept smashing the face with the metal bar and screaming in a fit of anguish and fury. Blood splashed back onto his face, mixing with the tears of his cursed fate. Exhaustion overwhelmed him but he continued to fight through it, mutilating the body with all of his power so that nothing of this disgusting man was recognizable.

"D-Diedrich," Vincent wept and knelt on the ground. He held his face in his hands and sobbed on the body of the viscount. "Why? _Why_? What could I have possibly done to deserve your wrath? I love you. I loved you. We were closer than brothers, better than friends, nearly lovers. Why? _Why_?!" An indistinguishable noise of pure despair escaped the lungs of the crestfallen man. He could barely cling on to the remaining pieces of his sanity. Was there no one in this world he could trust? Was everyone going to betray him in the end? Be it a friend? Be it a lover? Be it his very own parents?

Adrian stood in the very same spot that he had been in during this entire scene. What little pieces of his heart remaining in his system all cried out to Vincent. He longed to comfort him in some way, but doing so would violate the contract. Adrian was the last piece of hope in Vincent's life. He could not betray any order given to him or else it be considered an act of betrayal. That was the last thing Vincent needed. Adrian was meant to be the most loyal, despite being the least loyal of all beings.

"Adrian, this is an order," Vincent's voice hoarse from the screaming but empty from the pain. "Burn it," he said. "Burn it all," he demanded.

"My Lord, I cannot burn the building with you still in it. Please allow me to escort you to safety first," Adrian bowed. He stepped out of the shadows and towards Vincent. The heels of his shoes creating a noise that echoed off the walls.

"I care not for my safety," Vincent replied. "Burn it," he demanded again. "Burn it now!" he spat.

Adrian's eyes gleamed with a yellow glare, "My Lord, endangering your life would be a breach of contract," he lightly reminded, refusing to allow his anger to show.

"Ah, yes, right, the _contract_ , that's all you care about, isn't it?" Vincent stood up and sneered at his butler. His body drifting from side to side as he walked towards the vile creature. He could barely remain upright. He fell forward for Adrian to catch him. His eyes closed and his body limp. Adrian held the frail man in his arms, bridal style, as he escaped the building. He spat on the ground, his spit turning into a flame, which turned into more flames, and ultimately burned the building down completely once they were a safe distance away. Adrian stopped, standing on the branch of a faraway tree, holding Vincent close as he watched the demise of the secret location.

"I no longer care for such a pitiful contract," he admitted to himself. "I only wish for the happiness of my master, and this," Adrian sighed, "will most certainly not bring him happiness." It wouldn't matter what he said or didn't say. He'd tried before. Vincent was set on his revenge. So, for his sake, Adrian would play the role of the demon that he was and allow Vincent to blame him for all of his troubles. If that brought him the slightest bit of comfort, it would be worth it in the end, or so he hoped.


	8. That Butler; Confused

"Make preparations for the ball," Vincent said. He laid in a crimson bath. Blood pouring off of his body and into the water which soaked it red. It was not his blood. He did not care. But, lying in blood would not make him any cleaner, so he stood up. Adrian bowed to recognize the order. He lifted his body up but averted his gaze. Somewhere along the line staring at Vincent's naked body became a bit troublesome for him.

"As you wish," Adrian said.

The bloodied water trailed off of his body as he stepped out of the tub. "You're angry with me," Vincent observed. Adrian stepped towards the bath and hugged him through a towel. He dried him off, as if he were a child, for treating him as nothing but a child was the only way to get out of this conversation.

"My Lord, it would be inappropriate for me to feel anger towards you, as I am nothing more than a pawn in your game," he replied. The long towel covered Vincent down to his knees. Adrian rubbed his head, drying off his hair, and took a step back, leaving the towel on his master.

Vincent frowned, removing the towel just enough so that he could stare at Adrian's face. "You cannot look me in the eyes, do not try to avoid my statement by playing the butler card. You are not permitted to lie to me, Dri."

"It is not a lie," Adrian said. He wasn't lying. He was avoiding the conversation that Vincent wished to partake in. There was a difference.

"Look me in the eyes and tell me that then," Vincent demanded. "Or I will have no choice but to believe that you are truly angry with me for a reason you will not explain."

Adrian took a deep breath in and exhaled slowly. He forced himself to look into those eyes of Earl Vincent Phantomhive. One a blue pool of endless sea. The other a deep purple with the damage of a Faustian mark. "I am not angry with you, my Lord. My anger has only to do with myself," he said, conveniently leaving out the bit about his undying affection for his master and the fact that staring at him naked was quite the challenge.

Vincent stepped forward, allowing the bloodstained towel to fall behind him. He placed a hand on Adrian's cheek, staring into his eyes, searching for the truth. He closed his own and sighed. Adrian's heartbeat quickened but he tried his best to breathe normally. Vincent's eyes shot open, grabbing Adrian's tie and forcing him down. Their foreheads touched and their lips were far too close for the demon's comfort. He could breathe in Vincent's exhale.

"Please, don't ever change, Dri. Don't fall for me. Don't love me. Don't become my friend. Just remain the demon that you are," he pleaded. "Just lust after my soul, nothing else, please." His request was too late. Adrian had already fallen for him.

As much as Adrian wished that he could fulfill that request. He couldn't. The sorrow hidden in his eyes was enough to let Vincent know of that fact. "I'm sorry," Adrian apologized. "I am so very sorry," he repeated.

"Prepare for the ball," Vincent released Adrian's tie and pushed him away. He turned and exited the bathroom, retreating to his room, to curl up in a ball under the covers of his bed and will himself out of existence. There was no place for him on this earth. He simply had to finalize that truth.

Adrian made the preparations. He sent the invitations. He prepared the outfits. He gathered the proper ingredients. There was one thing he could not do: get Vincent out of bed. No matter what he tried, the man wouldn't move. He stayed in his ball and barely ate a thing.

"My Lord?" Adrian tried again. He pressed his hands gently on Vincent's shoulders, nudging him slightly. "My Lord..."

"There is one thing I don't understand in all of this," Vincent finally spoke. Adrian was thrilled. It had been a few weeks since he'd last heard his voice. "No matter how much I think about it, I cannot wrap my head around it, what are you after?"

"Your...soul?" Adrian tilted his head in his confusion. He placed his hand on his chin and frowned. What was the question?

"If you were after my soul surely you could've taken it without forming a contract. You wouldn't worry so much about me just because of a silly promise," Vincent said. "I don't understand you. I understand everything else, everyone else, I can even understand the ones that betrayed me after thinking about it long enough...but you? You make no sense to me."

"My Lord?"

Vincent's hand escaped the mound of blankets and grabbed Adrian's. He forced him under the blankets with him and pinned him to the bed. Vincent hovered over him, the heat of their bodies mingling with each other from the darkness of the sheets. "What are you after? My body?"

"Your...soul?" Adrian's cheeks flushed from both the heat and the scenario.

"Speak frankly, demon," Vincent frowned. "I cannot understand what that means. What is the soul?"

"The soul is, well, the soul?" Adrian didn't know how else to explain it. The soul wasn't like anything of the human realm. It existed within each human but it also was each human. They were one and the same. Not separate.

"Brother, Brother, I think we came at the wrong time," the one said.

"Brother, Brother, they look quite intimate, don't you think?" the other replied.

"Brother, Brother, are they going to make babies? Mother said babies were made when two people shared the same bed."

"Brother, Brother, wouldn't that mean we have been making babies all this time?" the other snickered.

"Brother, Brother, I think our babies would look quite nice, don't you?" the one smiled.

Vincent sat up in his bed, allowing the blankets to fall so that he might stare at the door. Sure enough, the twins stood, arm in arm, grinning. "Children, children, shouldn't you be at home?"

"Earl, Earl, you are our home. Father has gotten angry with us. We have run from him," the one sighed.

"Earl, Earl, please house us till the ball. We shall be good, we shall, and we can be quiet too. You can make babies all you like. We won't tell a soul nor shall we interrupt," the other grinned.

"Earl, Earl, I actually would like to watch, if you don't mind, no one has properly explained to us how the humans reproduce," the one blushed and looked at the ground.

"Children, children," he sighed, running a hand through his hair. Vincent clutched the sheet that was most loose and wrapped it around himself before standing up. He felt faint, but that was no matter, what was he to do with these two kids? "Won't your father be quite worried about you? Do you mean to make your mother sad?"

"Earl, Earl, we have gotten permission from our mother. She said spending time with you was important for us. However, we do not know why," the one shook his head as if it was obvious but he couldn't figure out the riddle.

"Earl, Earl, our father hates us now. We forgot to wear our wigs and escaped. Look, look, our hair, it matches, does it not?" the two pointed to each other's hair. The rays hit it just right that Vincent could see the brilliant shade of blue identical to his own. He'd had his suspicions...but now they were confirmed. The children still didn't understand.

"Children, children," Vincent couldn't stop a sense of love from building up in his heart. Rachel hadn't betrayed him, not completely, she just ensured the safety of his children. If society had found out about them...her life and their lives as they knew it would be over. Vincent got on his knees and outstretched his arms. The two children unlinked themselves and hugged him. He cried into their frail shoulders. "I will be more than happy to let you stay."

"Brother, Brother, why is he crying?" the one asked.

"Brother, Brother, obviously because he is so happy to have us here," the other snickered.

"Brother, Brother," they said in unison, "this should be a fun time indeed."


	9. That Butler; Bystander

Rachel inhaled. Rachel exhaled. She exited the carriage wearing her gown and grabbed her husband's hand. He was still furious, to be expected, and would not look her in the eyes. But, for the sake of this ball, they must keep up appearances. Earl Phantomhive's estate was beautiful. She expected nothing less.

The doors swung open and the grey butler stood, bowing, with his hand over his chest, gesturing for them to walk inside. Vincent stood at the top of the staircase, waiting for them, at the main entrance. "The ballroom is just that way," he gestured.

"Yes, yes, just that way," the twins sat on each of his shoulders and pointed in the same direction as him. Their faces glowing with excitement. They'd spent so much time helping decorate. Little did they know this was the climax to it all. This would be the final event in Vincent Phantomhive's life.

The guests came in one after the next. Each more excited than the last to be in the presence of the noble earl. Each one whispering rumors to the person beside them about the fact that the twins shared his hair color. They wondered if it was a wig, or if the black hair had been the wig, each one more and more confused.

"May I have this dance," Vincent stood before Rachel, offering his hand. Her hand hovered over his. She wasn't committed to dancing with him so publicly. Ultimately she drew her hand back, only for Diedrich to grab it and force it on Vincent's.

"Dance," he said, face and voice as stern as ever. Rage building up. She sensed it.

"If my husband insists," she exhaled and got into position. The symphony began to play. Step. Step. One-two-three. They glided on the floor. The match made in heaven. The guests nearly forgot that Diedrich was her true husband. They smiled, clapped, cheered for them to keep going. But, the song came to an end after all.

Diedrich threw a glove down in front of the earl, much to everyone's surprise. Vincent smiled and picked it up. "You wish to challenge me?"

"Swordplay," Diedrich glared.

"What are we dueling for?" Vincent tossed the glove behind him, for the twins to fight over who got to keep it. "Surely there must be a purpose?"

"Don't feign ignorance! Earl Phantomhive, I know who you are," Diedrich took a step too close, his face too much into Vincent's. "A fraud and a coward," he spat.

"Now, now, I've done nothing worth angering you so much, Viscount Dalles," Vincent assured. "However, if you would like to get on with this, my butler can be our witness," he gestured to the man dressed in grey. Without being told, he reluctantly got the swords prepared. The two followed him outside.

"Just so you are certain I am not up to anything, feel free to pick your own sword," Vincent took a step to the side so that Diedrich could go to Adrian first. The viscount examined each sword thoroughly. Once he was 100% satisfied that the two were identical, he grabbed one and tossed the other to Vincent. This was reminiscent of the old days. The two would often get into arguments and fight it out like this. Diedrich still had no idea that this man was once his friend. Vincent, although he wanted to confess, could not, for it would mean Diedrich would know that he knew the truth of his being sold.

"Please, both of you, don't do this," Rachel pleaded. Her words fell on deaf ears. Her husband only had one goal on his mind: killing Vincent a second time. The earl shot Rachel a not-so-reassuring wink.

"Don't worry your pretty little head over it," Vincent said. "I will be sure not to kill your husband." 

"It is not my husband I am worried about, Earl Phantomhive, but you," Rachel clutched the locket hanging around her neck. "Viscount Dalles is known for his swordplay. This fight is as good as done!"

"The crowd seeks a show," Vincent pointed to the nobles crowding around to watch the duel take place. Earl Phantomhive was a man to please. He held up his sword and smiled, taking a step forward. "Shall we begin?"

Diedrich scowled. The two fought. Fancy Footwork. Clanging of swords. Adrian bit his nails watching the scene before him. He knew the end result. Well, he knew two end results. The first was that Vincent got his way and killed Diedrich, confessing the truth of their relationship, and revealing the scumbag to the crowd. The second was that Vincent died, making the contract complete, and Adrian without a home once again. Vincent had nothing to live for and thus nothing to lose. He might throw the fight. Adrian desperately hoped that was not the case.

One swift movement and it was all decided. Diedrich fell to the ground. Vincent hovered over him. He threw the sword right by his head, grazing his cheek, before speaking. "Are you satisfied yet, darling Diedrich? Did you seek to kill me a second time? I apologize for not dying after you so rudely sold me to Monte Cristo."

"W-what?" Diedrich stared at the face smiling down at him. The memories he had repressed returned. This truly was a ghost. "V-Vincent?!"

Eyes glimmering with amusement and a smirk from satisfaction. The plot thickens. "Yes, yes, my name," Vincent held his hand to his chest and faced the crowd, "was Vincent Funtom, heir to The Funtom Company. My father was but a knight who became a baron. Your beloved Viscount Dalles killed my family on our way to a vacation home. He sold me to Monte Cristo, an occult group that was intent on killing me. But, I survived." Vincent's smile turned into a hollow scowl. He picked up the sword and placed it against Diedrich's chest, intent on running him through. "I have crawled back from the pits of Hell that you placed me in, darling Diedrich, so that I might take you with me. Prepare yourself to die," Vincent warned.

"Earl, Earl," the twins grabbed his arm at the same time. "Please do not kill our father," they spoke, "we know he did bad things, and that he is mean sometimes, but please," they cried, "he isn't a terrible human."

"Isn't a terrible human?" Vincent scoffed.

Diedrich's heart was not warmed by the words of his 'sons.' He grabbed the dagger hidden in his shoe and made a motion to stab one of the twins' eyes. Vincent, too quick for him, threw the boy out of the way and was stabbed himself. His arm bleeding and his grip weakened, his eyes shooting daggers of their own at Diedrich.

"Have you no dignity?!" his voice raised ever so slightly. "Using your own sons as bait!"

"They are not my sons!" Diedrich's voice was venomous and cruel. "I loved Rachel but she never loved me! Not even in our marriage did she love me! Look at their hair, you fool, can you really call them my sons?!"

"But they are your sons!" Rachel couldn't stop herself from crying. "You raised them. You were with me when they were born. They love _you_ , not him. _I_ love you." She had never admitted this to herself let alone said the words aloud. Her betrayal ran deep in the heart of Vincent. But, he no longer felt anything close to affection for her or Diedrich.

"Lies!" Diedrich grabbed the sword and brought it closer to his chest. "If you're going to kill me, do it already, or are you just as much of a coward as you always were, Vincent? Unable to attain your goals and unable to face them. You were always running away from the truth."

"Running away from the truth?!" Vincent scoffed. "That would be you, darling Diedrich."

"My Lord," Adrian placed his hand on top of Vincent's. His fringe masking his expression. Vincent blinked in confusion. Why was he making such a gesture? Vincent, distracted by the words, realizing that he had certainly run away from _a_ truth. A single truth. Diedrich used this distraction to sneak away. He stood up and stabbed the nearest thing he could.

That nearest thing just so happened to be Vincent.


	10. That Butler; Thinking

However, Vincent wasn't the one stabbed. The one stabbed was Rachel. She had pushed Vincent lightly out of the way and blocked the attack. The knife in her bosom and the blood trailing down her nice gown. The crowd gasped. Vincent dropped his sword so that he might catch her. He held her there, in his arms, as he gently knelt to the ground.

"Rachel?" he said, brushing hair out of her face. "Rachel, dear, don't do this to me, please," he requested.

"I'm sorry," Rachel coughed, blood escaping her mouth and trailing down her neck. "I simply couldn't watch you die. Don't hate him. He wasn't always like this, you know?" she smiled. Her eyes closed. Vincent continued to speak to her as if she were only sleeping, but alas the dame was dead.

"Mother, Mother, wake up please," the one rushed to her side, shaking her arm.

"Mother, Mother, don't leave us behind," the other rushed to her other side, shaking her arm too. 

Vincent stood up to allow the twins some space. His eyes hollow and his expression nonexistent. The sorrow too great, collapsing and building up upon other sorrow. Adrian had already taken measures into his own hands. He began seeing guests out. Wiping away memories. He let them leave. One by one.

"You killed your own wife. You threatened the lives of your own children. You sold your best friend to occultists. Tell me, darling Diedrich, why should I spare your life?" Vincent picked up his fallen sword and pointed it at the face of the male.

"You wouldn't kill me, you don't have the balls," Diedrich cackled. His laugh had no walls to echo off of to bounce back into Vincent's ears. So, he stood there laughing, and Vincent watched the movement of his body. The scowl was ever evident on his face. Vincent observed the loss of sanity on his former friend. He knew those feelings well. Diedrich didn't deserve to feel them.

"Adrian," Vincent said.

"Yes? My Lord?" Adrian appeared beside Vincent, awaiting orders like the loyal dog he'd become. 

Vincent placed his hand on Adrian's face, forcing it close to his own so he could whisper into his ear the order. "Death is too good for him. Terrify him. Terrorize him. Reveal your demon form to him, and then, let him go."

Adrian nodded. The cool mist surrounded himself and Diedrich. The fog was so thick that the twins couldn't see what happened inside it. They could only listen to the screams of terror if they were paying attention, but they had only one care in the world: their mother.

"Children, children," Vincent knelt back down, bringing one of them into each of his arms. "What are you going to do now?"

"Earl, Earl," the two began. They looked at each other and then up to him. "May we please live with you?"

"Children, children, I am not going to be in this world for much longer," Vincent said. The fog wisped away and Adrian stood with blood sizzling off of his uniform, evaporating so that it would disappear before the twins saw his appearance. "My revenge is complete. I only wished pain upon the one that sold me. So, I should be leaving soon, isn't that so, Adrian?"

"Butler, Butler!" the twins stood up and rushed to either side of Adrian. They frowned and shook their heads before pointing to him. "Don't you know it's rude to order your master around?"

"Butler Butler," the one began, "if your master left behind to adorable children such as us, wouldn't that be a crime? We are children, after all, and our parents have died. We have no one left but your master."

"Butler, Butler, have you no shame? Do you think you can help him get revenge and then throw him away like that?" the other shook his head.

Adrian's horns grew out of his head, twisting ever so slightly. His teeth grew sharp as his nails grew long. He bent over to eye level and frowned at their displeasure. "A contract is a contract," he ripped off his glove with his teeth to reveal the symbol. "Engraved on our bodies to show the promise made. Your birth father's time has long since passed."

"Butler, Butler," the one sighed, "you may change your face but you cannot change your heart."

"Butler, Butler," the other one pressed a finger to Adrian's chest. "we can see quite clearly here that you don't wish him dead either. Play the villain all you wish but the truth is evident."

Crystal clean tears poured out of Adrian's eyes and down his face. He knew what they were saying was true but Vincent wouldn't accept such a simple answer or reason to stay. The impostor earl had no feelings for his butler, after all. So the tears kept coming. The twins placed one of their hands on each cheek, wiping them away as they fell.

"It's a contract," Adrian whispered. "It must follow through. Grave punishments await those that betray a demon's contract. There is nothing I can do, especially not if my Lord wishes it."

"Earl, Earl, you have no choice in the matter, I'm afraid," the one shrugged and shook his head. "We will follow you to the depths of Hell should you refuse our demands."

"Earl, Earl," the other shook his head and shrugged as well. "We are children, we wouldn't last a day down there, don't you know?"

The two grabbed each other's hand. Their fingers were interwoven and their faces becoming closer together. They pressed their cheeks together and smiled at the impostor earl. "Earl, Earl, you have no choice, contracts can be amended, don't you know? If you don't respond, we might have to form our own, and you wouldn't want the lovely butler in _our_ hands. We would surely do naughty things. Very naughty things indeed."

Vincent remained quiet for the duration of this exchange. He watched as the two darling boys had talked to the demon. He sighed. They were set on keeping him on earth for a while longer. He didn't have the energy for this. Adrian had already asked him to be a doll. Now two dolls were asking him to be a doll too. He wouldn't be human. He would be hollow. He'd just exist without a purpose. No, that wasn't quite true, these children were trying to become his purpose, his reason for living, and were threatening him should he refuse. If their appearance hadn't been the way it was, if they'd looked more like Rachel, this entire conversation would be proof that they weren't Diedrich's sons.

"Ah!" Vincent became flustered and quite taken aback. The final words hadn't sunken in yet until they began to move. The two nearly pressed their lips to Adrian's cheeks, but Vincent ran at him, ran between them, and tackled his butler to the ground. He hugged the man, hissing at his children, "Go find your own butler," he frowned.

"Brother, Brother, I am the older twin. That means I can inherit the grey butler once Earl dies, right?"

"Brother, Brother, don't plot your assassination attempts quite yet. We just got him to stay with us."

"Children, children, if this is going to work, I should know your names," Vincent sat up. Well, to say he sat up would be a misunderstanding. He wasn't sitting on the ground. He was sitting on Adrian's chest, with his legs folded in that crossed position most children use. Ah, to say that he was sitting on Adrian's chest was also a misunderstanding. It was so low on his chest that it very well might look like his crotch. I shall leave the position of Vincent's ass up to your imagination, dear readers.

"Earl, Earl," they began, "our names of the past are not of the future. Pick new names for us. Your name of the past is not of the future either, _Earl Phantomhive_."

"Ah, I was never good with names," he frowned, placing his hand on his chin. He closed his eyes and sighed.

"How about 'Ciel'? It is French for 'sky'," Adrian offered, considering he'd been staring at the sky for the past...well...who knows how long. He was simply trying to get over the fact that not only had Vincent been possessive of him but was now sitting on top of him. This was the most Vincent had touched him since the entirety of thei- ah, that's a lie. Readers, how do you think Vincent has touched Adrian in the seven or so years of their relationship? :3 I shall leave that up to you as well.

"Wonderful!" Vincent clapped his hands together and pointed at a twin. "You shall be Ciel," he pointed at the other twin, "and you shall be Leic, because I am terrible with names!"

"Brother, Brother, switch names with me!" Leic pouted and shook Ciel. "I am the older one I should get the name from the grey butler! Not you!"

"Brother, Brother, but I like the name 'Ciel'!" Ciel crossed his arms and pouted back.

"Brother, Brother, how mean can you be?! I am the older one! Do as I say!"

Ciel shook his head 'no.' Leic gasped. "Rebellious phase?" he clutched his heart and staggered back, doomed to carry the name 'Leic' for the rest of his days. Even though he was the real Ciel, in his heart, his brother had stolen his identity. What a shame.

"Pardon me," a silky smooth voice belonging to a bespectacled man dressed in black holding a book and a butter knife spoke. His attire was similar to that of a teacher's. His eyes crimson and his smile terrifying. There was something lurking behind that grin. "I am looking for the late Mrs. Rachel Dalles." He adjusted his glasses as he spoke.


	11. That Butler; Satisfied

"Brother, Brother," Ciel clutched his brother's shoulder so tight Leic feared his arm might pop off. "I think I'm in love."

"Brother, Brother," Leic frowned, trying to remove the death grip. "You are not allowed to have him. I saw him first." 

Vincent stood up and brushed the dirt off of his attire. He walked towards the stranger and pointed towards the corpse. Adrian had told him of these sorts before. Reapers, he called them, the ones that collected the souls of the dead. Didn't they despise demons? Was he going to start a fight?

"Ah, thank you," he nodded and walked over to the corpse. He took his knife and lightly cut into her chest. A cinematic record began to play. Vincent had heard about those too. He watched, in silence, unable to look away. So nostalgic. The scenes with Diedrich appeared. Vincent had no interest in those. 

"Now then," the reaper closed his book, adjusted his glasses, and pointed to Adrian. "Please don't require more work from me. We are short-staffed as it is. There are far more demons than there are reapers," he sighed. "I don't want to have to pick up after you. Souls are hard to come by with so many demons eating them. It makes my job difficult." 

"Brother, Brother," Ciel grabbed Vincent's hand. "We shall protect this soul."

"Brother, Brother," Leic grabbed the other hand. "Of course we shall." 

"Your sons are rather adorable. Now, if you'll excuse me," the reaper bowed and turned on his heel. He walked back into the shadows. Ciel and Leic looked at each other, giggling over the fact that they had just been called adorable by someone so attractive. If they caused mischief and killed people, would they see the reaper again? Hm...decisions, decisions. 

"Children, children, if you're thinking about killing people just to see him again, you're sorely mistaken." The twins looked up at Vincent. How had he read their minds so easily? The blood running through their veins must've betrayed them. 

"I doubt he would enjoy the extra paperwork that came from you just trying to see him again," Adrian shook his head. "Reapers are like that, you know? Always putting their jobs in front of their free time. I can understand, of course, long lives after not wanting to live long at all can be tiresome without a distraction." 

"A distraction," Vincent snickered. "A distraction indeed." He glanced at Adrian and then looked down at the twins. "Children, children, how does one amend a demon contract? Would you like to specify the requirements of my prolonged soul-life?" 

"Brother, Brother, he cannot die until we do," Ciel frowned. 

"Brother, Brother, he must look after us well," Leic nodded. 

"Brother, Brother," Ciel snickered, "he should be _intimate_ with the butler." 

"Brother, Brother," Leic returned the snicker, "let's make it canon." The twins released their grasp on Vincent's arms and hugged each other. Each turned their heads to look at Vincent and Adrain. They smiled in the exact same way. Mischievous and deadly. 

"Butler, Butler, and Earl, Earl," the two began in sync, "you must become one. Body and soul. Mind and spirit. Two beings of like mind. In sickness and in health. Till our death do you part." 

"W-what?!" Adrian waved his hands around frantically. "No, no, that can't happen. No! You're crazy! I'm just a butler. I'm simply a demon butler at that. I couldn't possibly-" 

"Butler, Butler, we need parental figures. Two, to be precise. Would you rather Vincent remarried?" the twins continued speaking in unison, snickering to each other. Adrian became pale. 

"Butler, Butler, how does one amend a demon contract? Better do it now or it'll be too late," the twins gestured to their father. 

"Children, children, is this really necessary?" Vincent sighed. He pressed the bridge of his nose with his fingers. 

"Earl, Earl, did you want Adrian to run away and never return? Wouldn't it be better to simply edit your contract? You do have a habit of gathering enjoyment from control, do you not?" 

Adrian took a step forward and wrapped an arm around Vincent. He took his ungloved hand and rested it on Vincent's eye. His face close. His horns pressed against Vincent's head. His eyes shimmering. Vincent could feel his breath on his lips. His eye twitched. It burned. 

Ciel took a few steps back. He got a running start and jumped onto Leic's hand. He was thrust into the air and twirled around to kick Adrian right in the shoulders, forcing him forward, so that the two would kiss. He promptly landed on his feet, bowing, Leic clapped. Mission accomplished. 

"Ach," Vincent growled, pushing Adrian off of him. He grabbed his eye, wincing, as blood trickled down his arm. "What the hell did you do?" 

"I made a mistake," Adrian confessed. He scratched his arm. "I got distracted by the impact and altered the contract a bit too much." 

"A bit too much? Just a bit? My eye is bleeding far too much for _a bit_ , Adrian," Vincent closed his eye, crying blood, and stared at the pool in his hand. 

Adrian shifted his weight from one foot to the other. "Our contract now states that you cannot die until after I do." 

"How is that going to be possible? Did you just give me the lifespan of a demon? On _accident_?" Vincent frowned. Adrian nodded. 

"Brother, Brother," Ciel whispered to Leic, "this is quite good for us, no?" 

"Brother, Brother," Leic whispered back, "I daresay it is." 

The two grabbed one of Vincent's hands and led him into the manor. He struggled to catch up. Adrian followed. "Earl, Earl, it's time we redecorated," Ciel said. 

"Earl, Earl, I look forward to our lives together," Leic smiled. 

"Do you think they'll ever grow out of this speech pattern?" Vincent turned his head over his shoulder to stare at Adrian with his good eye. 

"I hope not, it's kind of cute," he smiled. 


End file.
